I had a lazy day today. In reality, most of my days are lazy, but I didn't even shower until 2:30 today despite having tons of things to accomplish. While getting ready to go out and do grocery shopping I came to a world-shattering, ego-destroying revelation: I have one pair of pants that fit, and those pants were wet and on the drying rack. I tried on every other pair of jeans in my closet and no fucking dice. I weighed myself: 165.8. This isn't even the heaviest I've ever been, but I got rid of all of my pants from back then.
So I cried, and started to panic while my dear fiance tried to help me wear the closest-to-fitting pair I had by rigging a key ring to keep the zipper up, which made me cry even more. I don't want to be like this. I certainly don't want him to see me like this. We both deserve better. And yet I don't feel like I can do anything about it. My initial reaction is always, "well, guess it's time to stop eating" - my super unhealthy coping method. Also the only way that's ever worked for me. I can't do moderation, and I haven't been able to turn the food craving part of my brain off so I just eat constantly. I'm disgusting and an embarrassment, and I need to change.
Hell, I'm writing this post from the car in pants that don't close while my fiance does the grocery shopping. If that doesn't scream the need for an intervention, I don't know what does.
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